Juvie Addict
by yamikinoko
Summary: .Vincent, Yuffie. Technically the Wutai princess was no longer a child anymore, but does that stop her juvenile antics? Not at all. Does Vincent mind? Not at all.


**Disclaimer**: _I do not own __**Final Fantasy VII**__. It is the property of __**Square Enix**__; I merely borrow the characters for my own amusement.

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**Juvie Addict**

There must have been a time when he was not surrounded by children.

Only three, but then again, three had always been too much a crowd. At least Denzel and Marlene remained paragons of maturity, even at the height of their petulance, but they were still small, and _young_.

(He thinks that there should also have been a time when not everyone seemed so _young_, but…)

The only child he found himself concerned about was the Wutai princess who, admittedly, had seen far too many years to qualify the title any longer, and yet the impression persists. He cannot say why.

Then again, there is no need to.

* * *

"What'cha doin', Vincent?"

He would generally respond with silence because, surely she could see for herself that he really wasn't _doing anything_, but maybe _standing there_.

"That's cool."

And thus Vincent would wonder, _standing is cool?_

"I did that once, I think."

_Yuffie? Yuffie Kisaragi, standing _still_? …No, not possible, not in any age, not in any lifetime._

"You know, Cid's lost his lighter."

_Which isn't news, because you probably took it._

"And his cigs."

…_Again, not a surprise._

"And actually, his wallet too, but he hasn't found out yet."

A bellow of outrage exploded from the bar behind them and Yuffie rocked back on her heels in delight (like she had been doing for the past five minutes) and giggled maniacally, pure mischief in sound. And then she ran.

"Bye, Vincent! It was great talking to ya!"

Which he found interesting, because he hadn't said a single word aloud during their entire exchange. Conversations with her usually progressed in this manner, and each time she came back, to talk some more.

"Come back here, ya freakin' little piece o' shit! Gimme my wallet back! Children! I'll never get 'em! Hey! Get back here!"

And Vincent knew that he had never agreed with Cid's gravelly snarl more.

* * *

Their marketplace routine was something that developed quite by accident, like frequent, one-sided conversations at any and all hours of day, and two-minute drinking contests (which is a story for another, very long day). He doesn't quite remember what it looked like exactly, only that when he walked by the stand, _it_ glittered fiercely in the sunlight and nearly blinded him. And half a minute later, it was in his hand, tucked safely into his cloak where it wouldn't injure anybody else, until deliberately used.

It wasn't until much later that he discovered his impromptu purchase was a small dagger marked out for immediate appropriation by the Yuffie Merchandise Liberation Corps, a deadly, one-girl team that would steal anything and everything not bolted down, if left to her own devices.

He did give it to her eventually, to the insistent urging of their teammates, who had long tired of listening to her incredulous tirade and uncontrolled gesticulations (which had nearly cost the bar a hefty bill in shot glasses).

"I'm never going to the market with you ever again!" was her fervent declaration that night, having squirreled away her latest acquisition. "Hey Vincent, let's go for a walk in the marketplace!" was her greeting early the next morning, and without waiting for a reply hustled him out of the building and into the busy streets, where she quite promptly left him standing (outwardly) impassive by himself.

Through something that had nothing whatsoever to do with telepathy and everything to do with common sense, he decided to make his own way through the narrow streets, skirting hawkers and their wares with a wary eye. Again, something glints at him in the pale morning sunlight, and even as he steps up to pay for it, he wonders how long this particular routine would last.

(They had, after all, given up those drinking contests for the their own safety as well as all those around them.)

Though he would never be able to find the words to say it aloud, or even whisper it in his head, he vaguely finds himself wishing that this, whatever _this_ is, would last for a long, long time yet.

* * *

_She was smug when they met back at the bar, "You'll never be able to guess what I," here she hummed briefly as she searched for an appropriate word, "_found_ today."_

_He doesn't even dignify that with a response, other than to reach inside his cloak and placing the sparkly _thing_ onto the countertop. Her jaw drops in exaggerated amazement and disbelief as he turns to walk away._

"_What? How did you— Where—where did you— This is better than what I— You—"_

_And though no one can see it behind the high collar, a soft smile touches his lips for the first time in a while._

"_Damn you Vincent, I'll beat you someday! It's so _ON!"

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**A/N**: To tell you the truth, I've never played any of the Final Fantasy games. The characters fascinate me though. How did I do?

Also, I'm currently taking fic requests—please refer to my profile for details.


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